


Day 5: Fairy Tale

by GemmaRose



Series: MegOp Week [5]
Category: Transformers: Cyberverse
Genre: Breach of Trust - Freeform, Communication, Healing Sex, M/M, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Reconciliation, Sleeping Beauty Elements, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:55:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22184434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GemmaRose/pseuds/GemmaRose
Summary: If Megatron had paid attention to Earth media while there, he might've called this a Sleeping Beauty situation. He didn't, though, so all he calls it is a Primus Damned Nuisance.
Relationships: Megatron/Optimus Prime, Shockwave/Soundwave
Series: MegOp Week [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592986
Comments: 2
Kudos: 105
Collections: MegOP Week 2020





	Day 5: Fairy Tale

**Author's Note:**

> Silkscreen, the hollowsteep plant, and plantformers in general are creations of SirenSong and used with her permission.

Megatron spat curses as he pushed his way through the underbrush, searching for the stupid glade he and Optimus had been chased into last deca-cycle. With any luck, the plantformer who’d caught Prime with their blasted power would still be around to threaten into undoing the effects of their attack. The trees finally parted, and Megatron growled in frustration as he looked once more on the lake. If he’d wanted the lakeshore, he would’ve come straight here. He kicked at the loose taconite of the shore, and the oil to his left shifted unnaturally. Megatron’s optics snapped to the disturbance as he spooled up his fusion cannon. One good shot was all it took to take down the slime monsters that lived in its depths, but he had to get it before it spotted him. They were faster than they looked, and he was not in the mood for hand to slime combat.

It wasn’t a slimy blob that surfaced, though, but a mech. Pink and white, with bright green optics and no kibble he could identify. As they walked out of the lake, however, Megatron’s optics locked on their chest. Specifically, their exposed spark, a feature unique to these strange mechs. One plantformer was as good as another, he supposed. The sooner he got answers, the sooner he could have Optimus functional again. He strode towards the mech, a slender thing who nonetheless towered over him like far too many mechs did here. He hated it, but at least his cannon could still pierce most armour in one shot. This mech barely looked to have armour at all, sleek and streamlined aside from his generous chestplate and admittedly impressive hips.

Megatron planted himself at the edge of the oil, lifted his cannon, and let it hum loudly as he charged a shot. “I’m going to ask you some questions.” he announced when those strange green optics landed on him. “Answer quickly, and I might not fire this through your spark.”

“So quick to violence.” the mech pouted, chestplates parting to reveal full, heavy breasts only just shy of being oversized. “I’m sure we can settle this... more peacefully.” he slid to his knees. Megatron kept his cannon trained on the plantformer’s spark.

“I ran across one of your kind, the other mega-cycle.” Megatron told the mech, maintaining optic contact. “He caught a mech from my camp with a powder weapon that put him in stasis.”

“Fernforge is a they.” the mech said, and Megatron stepped forward, the barrel of his cannon hovering close enough to the mech’s spark cover that he must be able to feel its heat.

“You _know_ the mech who did this? Where does he live?”

“ _They_ root wherever they like.” the plantformer rolled his optics. “And if this is how you treat everyone, no wonder you scared them.”

“Do you know how to undo what their weapon did to my comrade?” Megatron demanded, and the pink mech flashed an infuriating smile.

“Hollowsteep pollen can be burnt out of a system by a charge surge.” he said, rising to his pedes. “Have fun~”

Megatron’s mouth fell open, arm dropping to his side as the plantformer walked out of the lake and down the shore. All his efforts, and this whole time the answer to waking Optimus from his wasting recharge was a fragging _overload_? He was going to shoot that blasted plantformer through the helm if their paths ever crossed again.

The trek back to the negotiation-pod-turned-base in the plains passed uneventfully, which left Megatron plenty of time to ruminate on what had to be done. Obviously he would handle this himself, Grimlock was too ‘respectful’ to frag his leader to literally save the mech’s life, and Shockwave and Soundwave were more likely to get distracted trying to one-up each other than to actually help. Getting Optimus to overload shouldn’t be too hard, Primus knew the blasted fuel here had made them all absurdly sensitive. Windblade had even opted to stay in New Vos rather than risk flying back and forth anymore, despite the number of Starscreams.

Hopefully with that increased sensitivity, he’d be able to bring Optimus to overload fast enough that they could ‘face _properly_ afterwards. It was never a calm or tender affair between them, and they both preferred it that way. No better foreplay than swordplay, Grimlock had said once. One of the few intelligent things to come out of the mech’s mouth since they wound up on this blasted planet. Optimus gave as good as he got, and half the fun of fragging him came from the tussle beforehand, grappling and fighting over who got to use their preferred equipment of the moment, who would set the pace, who would demand more and who would invariably give it.

Their impromptu base was uncommonly empty when Megatron arrived, only Shockwave sitting outside, minding the filtration system he’d cobbled together after the first deca-cycle of unexpected changes caused by their fuel. Megatron gave his scientist a nod as he entered the pod, olfactory ridge creasing at the stench of ozone. He pointedly ignored the filthy recharge mats in the corner his officers had claimed, setting an alert for tomorrow to remind them to clean up after themselves. Lack of amenities was no reason to neglect basic hygiene, and the effects of this planet were no excuse to abandon common decency. A quick order locked the door, and Megatron strode to stand over Optimus. He looked... strangely peaceful, like this. They’d removed his battle mask to attempt to fuel him, and with it off he looked younger, more open. Almost vulnerable, though that was a word which did _not_ belong attached to Optimus.

Lowering himself to his knees, Megatron surveyed his target. He could just force Optimus’s modesty panels open, but no medic had been dragged to this planet with them, and Optimus might actually murder him if he woke up unable to close his panels. Typically they warmed up with sparring, but that wasn’t an option, so he would have to use other methods. Optimus’s legs were heavy, dead weight as Megatron nudged them apart to fit himself between them. His fingers traced the sensitive strips of biolights running between Optimus’s pelvic and thigh armour, and the mech shuddered ever so slightly under him, his placid field warming. Good, his frame still responded to stimuli. Megatron lowered himself to lie between Optimus’s legs, face level with Optimus’s pelvic armour.

It tasted... well, it tasted like metal that’d not seen solvent nor polish in stellar cycles. Plain, dry, a little like old lubricant around the seams. Optimus barely reacted, and Megatron rose with a grunt. Tactile first, then. He moved up Optimus’s frame, methodically exploiting every weak spot he’d found since their arrival here. A slip of his glossa between slats on his abdominal vents, a nibble at his windshield wipers, a tweak of his audials and stroke of his smokestacks. Optimus warmed under him with each touch, soft half-sounds slipping from his vocaliser as Megatron ground their hips together. Megatron moved back down, teasing those sensitive spots even more as he passed over them again, until his glossa could dart out to lick a long stripe up the center seam of Optimus’s modesty plates.

They transformed away immediately, and Megatron wasted no time diving in. Optimus was wet, but only just, and his valve was tight around Megatron’s glossa. Normally, if he tried to penetrate Optimus before the mech was ready, he’d get a punch in the face and Optimus would grapple him again. This time, Optimus just... moaned. Megatron froze, optics flicking up towards Optimus’s face, hidden by the clean angles of his chestplate. Optimus was a quiet mech, when they ‘faced. It took a truly processor-blowing overload to get more than a grunt or gasp out of him.

Megatron pulled back to trace Optimus’s valve rim with his glossa, and smiled as the needy little noise Optimus made. Perhaps this wouldn’t be as dull as he’d feared. He focused his attention again on Optimus’s valve, sinking his fingers into Optimus’s hip cabling to tug at deep-set fuel lines and sensor wires, making Optimus’s legs twitch and his vocaliser spit out the most arousing sounds Megatron had ever heard. A tease of Optimus’s rim got a downright musical moan. Sucking on his node drew a sharp gasp, which bled into a thin whine as the pressure continued. A scrape of his teeth over the sensor-laden nub drew a cry of pure need, and when Megatron next thrust his glossa between Optimus’s folds he was rewarded with the softest wail of ecstasy.

He rutted against the floor, spike straining as he worked Optimus higher and higher, a veritable symphony filling the pod over the wet sounds of Megatron’s glossa in Optimus’s dripping valve. Primus, at this rate he’d overload before getting to give Optimus a second one. After saving him from a wasting death though, Megatron was sure he could convince Optimus to call it even.

Typically, Optimus’s overload was a surprise, a cable snapping from too much tension which, more often than not, took Megatron with. Not this time. This time, Optimus’s sounds grew louder with each thrust of Megatron’s glossa and scrape of his denta. His field grew hotter, wilder, unrestrained need buffeting Megatron from every side and stoking his charge. It was no surprise when a sharp tug on his cables had Optimus spasming, crying out in unrestrained ecstasy. Megatron imagined he heard something approximating his own designation, and hummed against Optimus’s valve, drinking down Optimus’s release and letting the excess coat his chin.

When he removed his fingers from Optimus’s internal wiring and pushed himself up on his forearms, however, he was not met with familiar blue optics. Optimus remained in recharge, his face slack and optics shuttered. Megatron growled low in his chest, wondering what it would take to get Grimlock to join him in hunting down that lake-dwelling plantformer, but his processor was abruptly derailed from that train of thought by Optimus shifting under him. Optimus’s valve glistened in the harsh light of the pod when Megatron looked down, lubricant dribbling past the rim as it twitched in time with the flickers of need in his field. He licked his lips, refreshing the taste of Optimus in his mouth. He _had_ ventilated a sizable cloud of the dust, perhaps more than one overload would be necessary to burn it all from his systems?

Megatron’s spike throbbed, and when Optimus let out a soft whimper the choice was no longer in his hands. Megatron crawled up over Optimus until their hips aligned, and with the first grind of his spike against Optimus’s node, Optimus jerked beneath him, hips flexing up against the pressure on pure instinct. His mouth fell open as he gasped, and Megatron had to look away to avoid overloading on the spot. Thinking of Optimus as weak and vulnerable still felt wrong, but seeing him like this, his vulnerability translated into complete openness of expression... Unicron was full of erotic imagery, but nothing could compare to Optimus’s face in a moment of unmasked _Want_.

Megatron took a moment to master himself, venting deeply, though with the stench of ozone and fresh lubricant so thick in the charge-laden air the deep vents didn’t help terribly much. Still, he centered himself and drew back, shifting his weight to one arm so he could use the other hand to guide his spike into Optimus’s quivering valve. He sank to the hilt in a single smooth thrust, and gasped sharply at not only the soft cry which left Optimus’s lips when their hips met, but also the expression which accompanied it. He’d never seen Optimus so wanton, even in the clutches of the aphrodisiacs the green minis of the forest and mountains wielded so freely. He set a rough pace, frame trembling with the effort of not overloading. He needed Optimus to break first, needed to see his face as he came online to the best overload of his functioning.

Megatron pawed at Optimus’s chest until he found a wiper to grasp and bend, and Optimus bucked up against him with a wail. Not a wordless one like every other, though. This time, it was clearly Megatron’s designation. A loose approximation of it, at least, the glyphs disjointed and half-formatted, nearly overwhelmed by sub-glyphs of lust and desperation. Megatron rammed his spike deep, the tip pressing on Optimus’s ceiling node, and forced himself to still as he regained his self-control. He pulled out slowly, optics on Optimus’s face, and when his spike slid fully free of Optimus’s valve the Prime made the most desperate, needy whine Megatron had ever heard, and he’d heard _a lot_ since the portal spat them out here.

His engine revved at Optimus’s accompanying expression, and as soon as the tip of his spike was pressed to Optimus’s entrance he snapped his hips forwards again, shifting his weight so he could grab at Optimus’s smokestacks. Sensitive enough to make Prime wail his name again, sturdy enough to use for leverage as he set a near-frantic pace. Optimus spat high, static keens every time Megatron rammed his spike into his ceiling node, and when Megatron bent forward to bite down on one of those tempting little audial flares, Optimus overloaded. His valve went vice-tight around Megatron’s spike, and Megatron roared as his own overload crashed through him, sparks leaping between their heated frames as his charged transfluid tripped Optimus into a second overload. Blue optics flashed near white with the surge of charge, Optimus’s face a mask of utter bliss, and as soon as he was spent, Megatron collapsed. If Optimus needed still more, he could wait a cycle or two to get it.

\---

Awareness returned to Optimus in bits and pieces, his processor booting slow and foggy. He dismissed an alert for low fuel which took up most of his HUD, and let his optical shutters slide closed as he took stock of the rest of himself. He felt heavy, pleasantly full despite his near-empty fuel tank, with a familiar dull ache between his thighs and warm plating draped over him. Ah, it wasn’t him that was heavy, it was his living blanket. His living blanket whose half-pressurised spike was still sunk deep in Optimus’s valve, he realized with a jolt.

“Megatron, get _off_!” he demanded, but as low on fuel as he was there was no strength in his limbs to force Megatron to listen. He managed to roll them onto their sides, after a klik of struggling, and Megatron made a low, disappointed sound as Optimus disengaged from him. His panels snapped shut as soon as Megatron’s spike was clear, and his field and frame both _burned_ with- with- frag, he was feeling too many things right now to name them all, but he was definitely angry. Despite their history, despite everything this planet had thrown at them, he’d thought he could trust Megatron.

It shouldn’t hurt so much to be proven wrong. They were enemies, after all.

“Get back here.” Megatron grunted, optics flickering online behind barely-open shutters as he lifted an arm.

“No.” Optimus took a step back, and Megatron scowled in drowsy consternation for a moment before his optics flew open, flashing to full brightness as he sat up.

“You’re awake!”

“And you clanged me in recharge.” he spat, hands curling into fists at his side. He needed to hit something, but every time he and Megatron had fought since coming here it had ended in interface. How could he have been so naive, after so long at war, to think that a casual facsimile of a relationship would be enough to make Megatron keep his word?

“Well, yes, but-”

“I trusted you!” he shouted, axe transforming out reflexively. “We agreed to protect each other, and you took _advantage_ -”

“I wasn’t about to let you die!” Megatron shouted back, rising to his pedes and stalking over to Optimus, unintimidated by his ready weapon.

“What?” Optimus blinked, and Megatron took him roughly by the shoulders.

“You were wasting away, Optimus.” Megatron shook him, field sharp and angry and- afraid? “You wouldn’t wake, your frame wasn’t accepting fuel-” Megatron shoved him hard enough he staggered backwards, landing on his aft as his pedes failed to keep up. Megatron turned towards the crate where they kept their filtered energon, and Optimus watched him stalk over to it in silence, shoulders unusually tense. Had Megatron been afraid... _for_ him?

“I’d think you would be glad to be rid of me.” he remarked as casually as he could. Megatron shook his helm as he retrieved a cube.

“Not like this. You deserve a warrior’s death, fighting until the end.” he returned to kneel by Optimus’s side, and Optimus transformed his axe back into his arm as he gratefully accepted the cube, frame relaxing slightly as the fuel trickled down his throat. “And if I have to suffer sharing this slagged excuse for a hab with Soundwave, Shockwave, _and_ Grimlock, while dealing with this fragged-up planet, then so do you.”

Optimus chuckled, drinking deeper of his cube. Megatron pressed another one into his hands as soon as he finished the first, and Optimus looked down into the swirling pink fuel for a moment before turning his optics on Megatron. “How long was I out?”

“Twelve mega-cycles.”

Optimus hid his wince in another sip of energon. Twelve mega-cycles of Soundwave's porn soundtracks would drive anyone to desperate measures. “How did you discover how to wake me?” he asked, and Megatron rolled his optics.

“When has the answer to _anything_ this cursed planet throws at us **not** involved interfacing?”

“Fair enough.” Optimus acknowledged, lifting his cube again. Primus, had he already drank half of it? “If the answer was so simple, though...” he mused, taking a small sip. “Why did it take so long to wake me?”

“You think so little of me, Prime.” Megatron huffed, crossing his arms. “I exhausted every other available avenue first. This was a last resort.”

“Well then, my apologies.” Optimus lifted his cube to Megatron in a mock toast.

“Meet me outside once you’re fuelled.” Megatron ordered, rolling his right shoulder to bring attention to his fusion cannon. “I’ve not had a proper fight since that blasted plantformer took you down.”

“I’ll come out when I’m ready.” Optimus smiled, and Megatron turned to storm off. He’d have to ask Megatron later what it was like, fragging a mech so deep in recharge they weren’t even fully aware of the stimulation. If the fact he’d clearly been rebooting was any indication, Megatron had enjoyed it. Perhaps they’d have to redefine what was permissible in their not-relationship, realign their boundaries. It couldn’t hurt.

**Author's Note:**

> If you would like me to write a fic for you, come check me out on Pillowfort! No account necessary. [[Link](http://pillowfort.social/GemmaRose)]


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